


Taking the Reins

by velero



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Time, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Post-Canon, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:51:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velero/pseuds/velero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Well," Clint said with another edged smile, "I considered Bruce and Steve, of course, but I'm pretty sure they'd both turn me down. Bruce because he's too nice a guy to go for it and Cap because he's too ethical. That left you." His smile blossomed.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Reins

Tony glanced up as the door opened and Clint Barton ghosted in. Tony gave him a nod. "Hey."

Clint nodded back while settling himself against the wall next to the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. "You busy?"

Tony gave a half-grin as he turned back to the projections on the screens. "I'm always busy. Genius, saver of worlds through the sheer power of my soaring, scientific mind, etc, etc." He twirled a hand in an ironic, self-reflexive gesture beside his temple and smirked at Clint's snort.

He focused back on his work, but when Clint let silence stretch between them, he glanced up again. He looked more closely at Clint, leaning against the wall collected and still in that creepy way stealth assassins--or at least the two he knew personally--had, projecting an image of being as relaxed and harmless as any random person. Clint met his eyes with a brief quirk of his lips as though he could see Tony's thoughts.

He hadn't seen much of Clint in the three days since Natasha had finally been able to extract him from SHIELD's clutches and brought him to the Tower. The rest of the group had had over three weeks to shake down more-or-less together before Clint had joined them; all of them becoming used to rubbing up against each other in the communal areas while tailoring their own defined spaces in the Tower to their specs, making a home for themselves whenever and for however long each wanted to be here. Thor was still in Asgard, but his space was ready if he ever wanted it. Steve was currently using the suite Tony had provided mostly as a base as he made what Tony thought of as reconnaissance sorties, venturing out into the big bad world of the twenty-first century to try to acclimate himself and learn to pass as, well, normal.

Bruce, though: Bruce was Tony's new and favorite playmate in the labs. He _liked_ Bruce. Hell, he fucking loved being around Bruce--the dangers of provoking the Other Guy aside--sounding Bruce out on theories and proposals and the two of them indulging in dual flights of fancy as they one-upped each other just to see what heights they might scale together. One genius was great. Two geniuses: awesome!

But mostly he was reassured at having them under his eye, being able to use his manifold resources to watch over them, have JARVIS monitor their security and well-being while answering all their needs, big and small. The group finally felt complete now Clint was here, too, no longer being subjected to endless secret debriefings and interrogations none of them had known the parameters of. He'd tried to bull through the walls of silence and isolation SHIELD had thrown up between Clint and the rest of them until Natasha had told him to butt the hell out, that his mingled threats and bribes of new tech were making things worse, driving SHIELD's directors into defensive positions that made them box Clint in even more tightly.

She'd been tense the entire time Clint had been held incommunicado, a restless panther stalking around the Tower's common rooms, so with Clint's release, that locus of unease was gone now, too.

He hadn't had much chance to talk with Clint, who'd arrived looking hard-edged and honed with brittle tension, like will alone was holding him in one piece. Clint had disappeared for the first day and a half, probably--hopefully--sleeping off the exhaustion that'd clung to him like a tattered cloak.

He looked better. His face, at least, was a healthy color now, or as healthy as anybody looked in the artificial lights; not gray-faced, anymore, with eyes too sharp and glittery in a set face. Tony could still sense something inchoate, though, maybe anger, strumming beneath Clint's surface calm.

"JARVIS taking care of you all right? Got everything you need?"

Another of Clint's quick, attractive half-smiles. "Yeah, thanks, I've got everything I could possibly need that your AI can provide."

Tony blinked at the odd wording, but nodded. "Okay. Good? If you want anything else, you know, just ask--"

"Yeah, about that." Clint still hadn't moved, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, hips thrust forward and one foot crossed over the other, the picture of negligent collectedness in faded jeans. "I was wondering if you've got some free time if you'd like to get together tonight."

"Huh?" He frowned. "Get together? You mean talk, like over coffee, muffins? A drink? Or, I don't know, watch a movie?"

What the fuck?

Clint's lazy smile acquired a predatory edge. "Nah. I meant get together so you can fuck me."

"I-- What?" Tony flicked the projections away, the better to stare at Clint through the clear screens. " _What_?"

Clint pushed away from the wall at last and walked loose-limbed toward him. Tony's shoulders tensed.

Clint shrugged with seeming nonchalance. "I'm looking for a quick fuck. I figured you were the best choice."

"Me?" He raked a hand through his hair. "Uh, I'm flattered? I think? No, seriously, _what_?"

Clint was close enough now for him to smell the goats' milk soap and herbal shampoo JARVIS kept all the bathrooms stocked with unless someone had a specific request; and under it, the clean smell of laundered clothes and a hint of the oil Clint used to keep his bow supple. A step more and Clint was close enough for Tony to see his eyes were clear and direct, no longer bloodshot or hooded and feral as a cornered animal's.

For the first time, he registered that he and Clint were the exact same height. An inane part of his brain wondered why he'd never noticed it before; but, then, he'd never been this fucking _close_ to Clint before without being inside the suit.

"Well," Clint said with another edged smile, "I considered Bruce and Steve, of course, but I'm pretty sure they'd both turn me down. Bruce because he's too nice a guy to go for it and Cap because he's too ethical. That left you." His smile blossomed.

Tony stared. Clint stared back, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows. Tony shook himself and paced away, putting a lab table between them before he stopped.

"Okay, let me get this straight. You want somebody to fuck you and you chose me because I'm not nice and my morals are for shit."

Clint shrugged. "If the shoe fits...." His voice trailed off suggestively.

"Do you actually get much success with that kind of line? I'm asking purely from abstract curiosity, because, buddy, I think you need to work on your come-on." Before Clint could answer, he plowed on. "And, no, the shoe absolutely does not fucking fit! Do I look like Cinderella? What the hell--"

Clint's smile faded into a shrug as he held up a hand, already turning away toward the door. "Cool; no biggie. Sorry for bothering you. Just thought it was worth a shot before I headed out."

He was halfway through the door before Tony gathered himself and powered across the room. "Wait! Goddammit, Barton, where the hell are you going? What do you mean, 'out'?"

Clint paused and shot him an amused look, but it faded quickly, leaving him bleary-eyed. The brittleness was laid bare in him again, the tension Clint had been too worn down to hide when Natasha had first brought him home once again obvious, and he slumped back against the wall once more. Shadow dancer, Tony thought, a pang making his gut cramp; master of illusions and his own body language when he chose or needed. Now that Tony was no longer a target with a purpose, Clint apparently saw no need to waste any of his depleted store of energy in projecting a fake image of himself.

"It's getting late." Clint pushed himself away from the wall with an effort. "I gotta change before I head out." Another glint of weary amusement. "And by 'out', I mean 'out'. What the hell else would it mean?"

He started to turn away, but Tony barked, "Just the fuck wait a minute, will you? Jesus!" and Clint turned back to him.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest, his body no longer open and engaging, but closed off. Defensive.

"You're heading out to find someone, anyone, to fuck you."

"That's the plan." Clint managed to sound offhand and casual, even with his voice dull and eyes flat.

"And I was the easier choice because, that way, you wouldn't have to get dolled up and go out wasting time cruising clubs."

Clint maintained their eye contact, but he was coolly untouchable now. Tony knew he only had a few moments before Clint gave into his impatience and simply walked.

He talked fast. "So this isn't a good-time fuck you're looking for. Just a random, faceless, anyone-will-do fuck. Which, jeez, I suppose it's none of my business, except for how you _made_ it my business, and I just-- Uh. What's the point?"

Yeah, there, that was his main question, his swirling thoughts clearing enough to articulate it at last. Why such a need for a meaningless fuck when Clint was clearly just plain exhausted?

Clint glanced down, then looked up, and both his eyes and voice were flint now. "I need to get back on the horse. I know how to handle this crap, and it's not by endlessly _talking_ about it and it's not by 'learning how to deal with my memories' the way the SHIELD shrinks think they know best. I know what I fucking need to get myself back to functional."

Tony blinked, then straightened as a tide of cold washed down his back. "Ah, so I'm guessing Loki...?"

"I gave Loki everything he asked for, from intel to my body. It's the first time I've been under somebody's mental control like that, but it's not the first time I've been used. I know how the fuck to heal myself."

"By getting back on the horse." Tony, centered and calm now, kept emotion out of his voice in the still room.

Clint's voice, on the other hand, was iron gratings. "Yeah. Because Loki doesn't get to take that away from me. He doesn't get to ruin that pleasure for me. Nobody the hell does ever again."

"Yeah, okay, I get it." He spoke quickly, quietly, knowing he had only moments before he'd lose Clint. "All right. I, uh, I don't want you going out and dealing with this thing alone. With a stranger. I just have one last question."

Clint stared at him, poised on a knife's edge.

"Why didn't you go to Natasha?"

For the first time, Clint's control slipped. He looked suddenly younger, uncertain, a spiraling kaleidoscope of emotions washing over his painfully open face. His voice was softer, too, with a hesitant, uncharacteristic stammer. "I think she might--she might do it, might use a strap-on. Do it for me. But I don't want to bring my mess into her life. She worries enough about me. And it would change us, I think--inevitable, sex always changes-- Would change what we are--" He took a deep breath and looked up, momentarily vulnerable, then slammed a mask over his face so it set into cool, hard distance again. His voice flattened. "Anyway, I need a cock with a man attached to it right now."

Tony fought down the wash of empathy and panic swirling across his nerves, and drew his confidence about him with sheer will. "Right. Okay, well, I'm a man and I'm delighted to say I have a cock attached to me, so we're good to go." He held Clint's narrowed, considering gaze. "When do you want to do this...thing. Help me out here, I can't think of an appropriate euphemism."

Clint cracked a smile that looked almost genuine, and maybe even relieved. "'Fuck' works for me, but you can call it whatever you want. As for when, now's as good a time as any, right?"

His head disappeared as he pulled his T-shirt up and off. And, whoa, those muscled arms were apparently attached to an equally impressively defined chest. Tony blinked his eyes back up to Clint's face as it re-emerged.

"Wait, here? Right now?" He winced internally at the high note his voice reached.

Clint grinned, all comfortable ease now, the crazy, half-naked bastard. "Where would you prefer?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking something revolutionary, like maybe a bed? In a bedroom?"

Clint's eyes moved from Tony to a lab table and back with a gleam of mischief. "I was thinking you bending me over a lab desk with all those big black windows as a backdrop." His hands dropped to his fly and he canted his left hip as he shifted his weight with deliberate emphasis.

Tony clamped down on his instinct to stutter. "Okay, fine, that sounds, uh, doable. I guess. Yeah. Okay.... Though I don't exactly have supplies in here--" He looked around distractedly, wondering when he'd last felt this at sea when faced with an unexpected situation.

Clint gave him a lopsided grin and pulled a couple of foil pouches out of his pocket, flipping them to him.

He raised his brows as he caught them. "Two?" He was about to make a feeble quip about his potential recovery time, but Clint was speaking again in that painfully taut voice.

"In case you want to double-bag. I'm clean, just so you know, at least as far as anyone can tell. I've been scanned inside and out, tested every which way, and probed where probes were never meant to go. They're fairly certain Loki didn't leave any alien STDs behind. No one's even sure if demi-gods have any of that stuff. But it's...ninety-five percent likely I don't."

Clint was staring at the wall, eyes distant and raw without shades to hide them. Tony twitched his own gaze away, putting the condoms down close by and speaking just to fill the void.

"Okay, we're good to go, then. Though I gotta say, I've always been weirdly fond of foreplay, and it does sometimes serve a useful purpose in...priming the pump, so to speak, which is occasionally kind of necessary, at least since I left twenty-five behind more years ago than I want to consider--"

He ground to a halt as Clint kicked off his runners, then slithered out of his tight jeans with a few distracting wiggles, proving he'd come on this particular date prepared in every way. Which was to say, commando.

Clint's voice had its snark back. "What's the matter, Princess, want time to fix your make-up? Don't worry, you'll do fine. I'll make sure you're primed."

Clint gave him a terrifying smile, then stalked over to him--that scent of familiar shampoo and soap flooding his senses again, only now with a defamiliarizing hint of sweat or arousal in the mix, oh, god, how had this become his life--and slid to his knees with the grace of a man who could throw himself off a building, flip himself over, and fire a deadly accurate arrow all in one smooth motion.

"JARVIS, privacy," he managed to croak, barely hearing the acknowledgement and the whirr as the door locked and the windows darkened, most of his senses focused on the rasp of his fly as Clint pulled it open, the slide of fabric down his hips, and cool air licking at his stomach. He offered one of the condoms, but Clint waved him off.

Then Clint's callused hand was wrapping around his cock, firm as a sheath, while his other hand cupped Tony's balls with contrasting gentleness. There was more licking, not the metaphorical kind this time, wetness mingling with hot breath fanning his groin, and, freaking hell, he was responding already. He was responding because apparently Clint's mouth held more than one surprise for him tonight.

Clint Barton was a top agent in his field, Tony had long known. He'd never imagined, though, that one of Clint's skill sets was _sex_. Clint didn't quite deep-throat him, but he came closer than anyone else non-professional Tony had ever been with; Clint's mouth shaped itself to accommodate each stage of Tony's swelling dick, as sweet a fit as the bespoke shoes that cradled his feet.

Tony figured the only safe way to get them both through this oddball...thing...was to keep it all as impersonal as possible. He was just doing a favor for a...colleague. A colleague who needed a helping hand, that's all.

So he was disconcerted a few minutes later, when Clint slid Tony's rigid cock from his mouth into his hand with a wet plop, to discover his own hand had migrated from a grip on the lab table behind him to a curving hold around Clint's head. Soft hair sifted through his fingers and left his fingertips tingling as Clint stood up and Tony's hand fell away.

Clint smiled at him with damp, reddened lips as he leaned in, one hand still wrapped around Tony's cock and his thumb gently teasing the shaft, keeping well away now from the sensitive head, which throbbed as cooler air wafted over its dampness. Clint's sultry voice fanned warmth across his cheek as he murmured into his ear: "That primed enough for you, Gramps?"

He snorted an involuntary laugh, but lifted his hand to slide his own thumb along Clint's lips, shining with Tony's pre-cum. For a moment, they froze, staring at each other in deep silence, then Clint blinked his eyes away and took a step back, letting go of him. As Tony drew in a steadying breath, Clint turned his back to him, leaning his hands against the table and spreading his legs apart. He arched the small of his back, pushing his ass up and ready, smooth and competent in this move as he was in the shooting gallery.

Tony moved behind him, nervousness an itch under his skin that he blanked out the best he could. He wanted to run an appreciative hand down the leanly muscled planes of Clint's back that led his eyes inexorably down to the toned fineness of Clint's ass. He wanted to try to make this rewarding for both of them, but despite Clint's seeming openness, his head was hanging down between hunched shoulders and raised veins were prominent on his braced arms.

Anyway, this show was Clint's to control; he'd gotten the point.

To buy himself a steadying moment, and because he felt like a cheap john standing there with his pants open and his dick sticking out, Tony pulled off his clothes and dumped them on the floor, moving quickly because Clint was waiting, poised, and Tony couldn't bear to string out the suspense for him.

He took hold of Clint's slim hips and angled him better, then slid a finger down the damp crease of Clint's cleft to rub across his hole. He wasn't surprised when his fingertip slid inside, heat and slickness enveloping him. He swirled his finger around, testing the elasticity, until Clint made an irritated growl and rolled his hips.

"I'm _ready_."

He forced his own voice into a matching growl. "Hold your horses, birdbrain."

He ripped open one of the condom packets with his teeth and pulled it on. He took a deep breath as he looked at the esthetic feast laid out before him, open and frighteningly exposed, and wished there were a way he could give Clint the fuck he wanted without actually having to touch him. He was afraid if he touched with anything other than cool detachment that Clint might shatter. He suspected Bruce's and Steve's innate kindness and decency weren't the only qualities they had that'd made Clint avoid them.

Clint had come to him because Tony was an asshole. He could appreciate that motivation; now he just needed to make sure he didn't slip up.

But when he'd eased himself inside, ignoring Clint's hissed commands and starting slow, taking his time to build to the hard, fast rhythm he knew was the closest to actually feeling good Clint had a chance of getting out of this, he couldn't resist laying his forehead against Clint's sweaty shoulder, just for a moment. That put his bare chest against Clint's naked back and with his hands now resting on the table close on each side of Clint's hips and his cock fully inside Clint, he essentially had Clint trapped in his arms.

Trapped.

He felt the minute shudder as Clint's breathing broke with a ragged hitch, felt the sudden increase in Clint's heartbeat through his own nerve-endings. He lifted his head away, pulled his hands back to grip Clint's hips, and kept his voice low and calm. "It's me, Clint. It's just me. I've got you."

He stood still, fighting the need to move, waiting to see if Clint needed him to pull out. After a few hard breaths, Clint nodded and turned his head; Tony watched the ripple of his throat as he swallowed.

"Yeah, I know. It's good." Clint's voice had gained strength with each word and now became a taunt. "What are you waiting for? Too decrepit to finish what you started, Gramps?"

Tony grinned and stroked into him with enough force to make Clint grunt, but he could see Clint's smile and the way his eyelids fell to half-mast. Clint's body slowly loosened, the lingering fragility in him flaking away like scales as supple new skin emerges; even Clint's dick finally got interested, hardening in Tony's hand as Clint filled the air with increasingly filthy and breathless imprecations.

And in the end, Tony did slip up; but he figured he'd earned it as he stroked Clint's cock to a climax that drew Tony's own from him buried deep inside him and Clint yelled "Fuck!" in various languages at the ceiling and the floor and mostly at Tony. Clint's body was pliant now inside the circle of Tony's arms, yielding and hot and slick with sweat, even his brown hair darker than normal around the edges, and Clint was whole and in control of his fate, he fucking well was, and the desperation was pushed away, for right now at least. So Tony let himself go, too, pressing his mouth to the damp valley between Clint's shoulder blades that'd been enticing him the whole time. He licked a salty stripe, then stilled to just absorb Clint's warmth and scent and try to gentle him for a second or two.

When he finally broke the kiss, he let go of Clint and stepped away entirely, then turned to pull off the condom and dump it. When he turned back, Clint had also turned around and was leaning against the lab table, making no move to get his clothes, eyes intent on Tony. Clint's hands were curled around the edges of the table, but his touch was light and his arms were spread wide; he was open and at ease, no longer tense and closed-off.

Tony met his eyes and waited, but Clint just kept looking at him with heavy-lidded relaxation; what looked like genuine relaxation now, not a maneuver wielded with hidden intent. Tony waited, determined not to be the first to break, so he didn't grab his own clothes and he kept himself from folding his arms across his chest because that might look like he was trying to hide. He did break first on the not-talking thing, though, because awkward silence never led anywhere good.

"So, all healed now, are you? One good fuck from my amazing cock and you're back to normal?"

Clint laughed, his eyes bright--the crazy fucker always had seemed to appreciate Tony's sarcasm more than most did--but he still didn't move, so Tony didn't either.

Clint's voice was as warmly relaxed as his body. "Nah. It was good, though. Really good." He sobered. "First step in getting back to how it should be, to where I get to feel good the way I want, when I want. Where I take back what's...mine. I'll be sore tomorrow, but it'll be because I wanted it. You know?" He looked at Tony, apparently waiting for a response, so Tony nodded. "And if you've left me a few bruises--" Clint drifted a hand alongside his hip where Tony could see faint, fingertip-sized red marks "--I'll be able to look at them and know these ones are there because _I_ wanted them."

Clint's eyes blinked down to the floor as his fierce voice faded, but he took a breath and looked back up at Tony and the new easefulness was still in them, though overlain with tiredness.

"Thanks, Tony."

Tony nodded, holding Clint's eyes, letting the silent message wing to him: _Any time you need me, whatever you need_. Clint smiled again and nodded, then they both turned away to get dressed.

"Oh, hey," he called as Clint headed out the door a few minutes later, "come by tomorrow when you get the chance. I've been working on something which, no shit, is gonna make you cry for ever-fucking _joy_ when you see it," and the door slid shut on Clint's wave and a chuckle.


End file.
